


Afterlife (Before Death)

by MagitekUnit05953234



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death In Dream, Depression, Discussions of mental illness, Fix-It, M/M, POV Second Person, Polyship Roadtrip if you squint, Prompto Argentum Needs a Hug, Ship not established, Trans Male Character, Trans Noctis Lucis Caelum, in theory this is a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 07:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234/pseuds/MagitekUnit05953234
Summary: “How did it happen?”Prompto quirks an eyebrow. “Good morning to you too, your Highness.”You pull your covers off and wobble to your feet. Your back aches. You wish you were alone. Fear rises in your throat, bitter as wormwood. “Why are youhere? How did you die? You weren’t supposed to die.”“Wh...what?” Prompto’s face melts with concern. “I’m alive as anything, dude. Did you have a nightmare or something?”





	Afterlife (Before Death)

**Author's Note:**

> This is old. Like really old. Almost everything I wrote before August this year is in second person and I think this was primarily written in March. I fixed it up a bit and here it is.  
> As always, sorry about the second person but it is what it is.

You wake up to sunlight. The bed under you is soft, and you want nothing more than to sink into it forever. You hear voices somewhere. You can’t bring yourself to raise your head.

The sun is so warm.

After a moment, you force yourself to open your eyes.

_Oh._

The afterlife is cruel… or perhaps much too kind.

You sit in a restored Galdin Quay, blinking owlishly at an amused-looking Prompto. A young Prompto, unburdened by the Night.

You drag your eyes from him to see an equally younger Gladio lingering by the door.

Ignis is nowhere to be seen.

Something inside you snaps when you realize what this must mean. When you speak, your voice rasps. Somehow you sound youthful through the thickness. “How did it happen?”

Prompto quirks an eyebrow. “Good morning to you too, your Highness.”

You pull your covers off and wobble to your feet. Your back aches. You wish you were alone. Fear rises in your throat, bitter as wormwood. “Why are you _here_? How did you die? You weren’t supposed to die.”

“Wh...what?” Prompto’s face melts with concern. “I’m alive as anything, dude. Did you have a nightmare or something?”

Insomnia burns. The Regalia is stolen. Jared dies. Luna dies. Ignis sacrifices everything. Gladio hates you. You attack Prompto. You wander a metal maze. The ring tears you apart. You murder Ardyn. A sword pierces your chest.

Did none of that… happen?

“What day is it?” Your hand flashes up to your chest, at the phantom ache that spreads through you.

You hear Gladio scoff across the room, though he didn’t sound entirely too mad. You’re vaguely aware of him opening the door.

In comes Ignis. With one look at his face, you know.

You never forgot a single second of this day. Not even after everything else that happened.

“Ignis?” Your feet carry you over to him. You take the briefest of moments to appreciate his unmarred eyes before taking the newspaper from his hands. You already know what it will say.

“It’s in all the papers,” Ignis offers, his voice shaking slightly. He is trying to keep it together for you. His uncle died. His only home is destroyed. You’re not sure you ever saw him grieve.

Prompto and Gladio are by your side, suddenly. You clutch the paper in tightening fists as Prompto reads out the headline.

“Insomnia… falls?”

Even after all this time, tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You push the paper into Ignis’s chest and press the heels of your hands over your eyelids. “This can’t be happening.”

You can’t relive all this. You can’t.

But maybe… you can change it.

A hand closes on your shoulder and you look up to Prompto’s watery smile. “It’ll be okay, Noct.”

The pieces of whatever shattered within you begin to burn ice-cold. “Don’t say that. My father is dead. So are your parents, and Gladio’s, and Ignis’s uncle. We left and they didn’t tell us and now we’re here. It’s not okay.”

Prompto recoils, and you can practically feel Gladio tense up from where he is several inches away. Ignis stares down at the crumpled paper in his hand.

“Maybe there was a mistake,” Gladio grounds out, but you cut him off with a choked laugh. You are being cruel, but so is the universe.

“How can every headline be wrong?” You turn from the three men and stare at the sunny beach out the window. You never thought you would see it again. “We should… go back. To see it. For closure.”

You are trying. You are trying very hard not to lash out like you did last time. The King is dead. You are dead. This is cruel. If you have to dream your life over again, you might as well try to be better to everyone you wronged.

“...go back to Insomnia?” Prompto must be shaking. He was always very good at hiding his anxiety, but you can hear the telltale weakness in his voice.

“Might not be safe for us there,” Ignis cautions.

“Might not be safe for us here,” Prompto counters. Deja vu hits you hard.

You didn’t think the afterlife would make you relive such terrible things. No rest for the Blessed King. The Astrals are even more wicked than you thought they could be.

Gladio approaches you and you turn to see him. He has only one scar from protecting you. You never want to see him gain any more. “You want to turn back?”

You nod.

“Let’s be on our way, then,” Ignis is stiff and composed. “I’ll pack our things. Gladio, Prompto, can you go check us out?”

“Got it,” Prompto ducks his head and hurries out of the room with Gladio shadowing him.

“Let me help,” you move to wipe away the dampness on your cheeks but realize that you are wearing the same outfit you wore out of Insomnia. The jacket sleeves aren’t much longer than the tee underneath, so you really only manage to get tears on your arm. “Let me change first, then I’ll help.”

“Of course, your Highness,” Ignis doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

You close yourself in the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. You look so young. Your face is smooth, and your shoulders are not as broad as they had been. Your right side is free of the scars that spidered up your skin from the Ring. Your hair is styled just like you always did it before you were pulled into the Crystal.

You pull a set of clothes from the aether and drop them to the floor without even looking to see what they are. You undress.

There is a scar in the center of your chest. Red, angry, raised millimeters above the rest of your flesh. Smaller, thin scars reach out from the initial point of impact like the ripples a stone causes in a pond, crossing over the familiar surgical scars under your pecs you’ve had since you were sixteen. You ghost your hand over the mess, feeling a flash of pain.

“Trust in me,” you echo to yourself, suppressing a sudden trembling in your limbs.

It’s real, then. This is real. Your death is real. You’ve been flung backward somehow, with a grisly reminder of what you did marring your skin.

You pick up the clothes you had left on the floor and your heart skips. The royal raiment sits in your hands, fabric heavy. A hole gapes in the front.

You banish it and call forth a different outfit. A souvenir jacket with a white tee shirt. Black pants. There’s a watch and a necklace, too. Normalcy.

You give yourself a moment to just rest after you dress yourself. You sit on the floor beside the sink, arms wrapped around your knees. The tiles are heated.

When you emerge, Prompto and Gladio are still out. Ignis is perched on the end of one of the beds, staring at his gloved hands. He glances up when you walk in, but doesn’t move otherwise.

“My apologies, Noct,” Ignis says. “I haven't started yet.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” you tug at the sleeves of your jacket. “This isn’t easy.”

You wonder if you should tell Ignis what you know. You wonder if you even could.

“The King must have been aware of what would happen,” Ignis ventures, his gaze locking back onto his clasped fingers. “So, he sent you away just in time.”

“Yes,” your heart feels so incredibly heavy. “He did.”

“How are you feeling?” Ignis asks plainly.

You shrug before making your way over to your bag. You start shoving items into it. There was so many little things you never really thought about after you emerged from the Crystal. What happened to this stuff?

Your phone charger, a keychain with a sunglassed chocobo on it that Prompto won you at the arcade last summer, a bottle of your favorite cologne, stray fishing lures, your handheld game system, a few crumpled sticky notes with medication reminders on them, your actual medication, a knee brace. The detritus of your normal life.

You banish the bag and make for Prompto’s things. You start packing up his belongings too, albeit much gentler than you had your own. There is the normal stuff: rolls of film, bent and battered stray photographs, an orange pill bottle that you make sure not to read the label of, stubby eyeliner pencils, a few memory cards, protein bars. What catches you in particular is the sheer amount of bracelets, wristbands, and leather cuffs he keeps in the small pockets of his bag. He must have constantly worried about you seeing his wrist. You wonder how to make things different this time.

“H-hey, Noct,” Prompto slides up behind you and rests a hand on your back. “We’re clear to leave once we’re done. And… I’ve got this.”

You nod and step away. When you had been busy, Ignis packed up his own things along with Gladio’s. Once you banish the bags to the aether, it looks as if you had never been in the room, save for the discarded newspaper on the table. You fold it up and put it in your pocket. “Looks like we’re done here.”

“Yeah,” Prompto affirms, letting out a sigh. “Gladio’s got the motor running. We going?”

It is hard to enjoy the Quay as you leave it. It is hard to enjoy the sights as you drive past them. You already know what you are going to see at the end of the road. This trip is less for you and more for the others. You hope it helps.

You fight through the MTs on the way to the hill on autopilot. It isn’t until the way is clear that you really pay attention to your friends. Gladio is watching the MT at his feet dissolve into miasma. “So, these are MTs.”

“Empty humanoid soldiers,” Ignis supplies. “Soulless and merciless.”

Prompto looks stricken. His pistol is held loosely in one hand and he frowns at where the MT was. He catches you looking and turns his hand at an odd angle.

Oh. The barcode.

Prompto must know his origins. You never put as much thought into it as you probably should have. You assumed he didn’t know until Zegnautus.

You itch to defend the MTs, but the moment has passed. You aren’t sure what you would say anyway.

When you stare out at the burning ruins of Insomnia, you feel an ache in your chest that you can’t describe. It’s not quite grief, but it’s something adjacent to it. It begins to rain.

Prompto’s phone blares a newscast. “As to ceasefire discussions between the two nations, all provisional terms have been suspended in light of recent developments. Moreover, in the wake of the news of King Regis’s death, we’ve now received word that Crown Prince Noctis and the Oracle Lunafreya have also been pronounced dead.”

Prompto moves to mute it, but Gladio yells at him. He drops his phone in the mud and the newscast flickers off anyway.

You called Cor last time. You fumble to get out your own phone and you see Ignis help Prompto retrieve his own from the corner of your eye. You dial Cor’s number with shaking fingers.

“Hello? Cor?” You press your phone against your cheek.

“So, you made it,” Cor’s voice is relieved in that put-on stern way of his.

“I did,” you confirm. You watch Gladio pace. “We’re outside the city. Me and Gladio and Ignis and Prompto. No way in. It’s crawling with Niffs.”

“Makes sense,” Cor is silent for a moment. “The news says you’re dead.”

“I know.”

“I’m heading out to Hammerhead,” Cor delivers the words almost exactly as you remember. “About the king… it’s true.”

“I can feel it,” you tell him. You really can’t, but it sounds better than telling him you already had confirmed it though time travel. Or lying.

“We ought to talk,” Cor says. “You know where to find me.”

“I’ll see you there,” you hang up and turn to the others. Prompto’s bangs, wet from the rain, hang down in front of his eyes. Gladio has his gaze fixed on the burning city. Ignis has become enamored with his gloves once again.

“What did the marshal have to say?” Ignis’s voice is soft.

“Said he’d be in Hammerhead,” you reply. You know what is coming next.

“And the King?” Gladio presses, just as you knew he would. Suddenly, you feel weak. You can’t stay silent. Not this time.

“Gone,” you choke out. You know what that means to Gladio. “I’m sorry, Gladio.”

No one speaks as you make your way back to the car. You are almost shocked when Gladio breaks the silence during the drive back.

“Don’t suppose the Crownsguard is still active,” he muses.

“Probably not,” you answer. “Not with Cor out here.”

“So, we’re all that’s left,” Prompto raises his head from its resting place on the window. “That’s a weird feeling.”

“Indeed,” Ignis’s hands were tight on the wheel.

Prompto casts a glance at you from the passenger seat. His gaze wanders over to Gladio, who doesn’t seem to notice. “I wonder how things are in the city.”

“We’ll be getting reports before long,” Ignis replies. You wish you could see his face, but you can only catch glimpses of it in the rearview mirror.

Gladio’s phone lets off a chime and he extracts it from his pocket in record time. “Got a message from my sister. She’s with refugees bound for Lestallum.”

“Did she mention any in particular?” Prompto asks. You realize he must be hoping for news about his parents. You never really talked to him about them much, other than the fact that they were never around.

It suddenly hits you how messed up that was.

“She didn’t have much to say about the people she was with,” Gladio types something on his phone quickly before putting it away. “Doesn’t sound like a lot of people were very lucky.”

“At least Iris is okay,” Prompto’s head thunks against his window. “That’s good. My parents are probably gone. Just like you said, Noct.”

You regret lashing out at the Quay. Guilt crawls into your stomach and takes up residence. “I’m sorry.”

Prompto chuckles weakly. “It’s not like they were ever around, anyway. Not much different, in the end.”

“That’s not true,” you start.

“I haven’t seen them for more than a few hours at a time in the past eight years,” Prompto offers up. “Once every couple months. It’s really not that different, Noct.”

The rain drums against the roof of the Regalia. Cor isn’t at Hammerhead. You decide to stay the night in the caravan parked on the edge of the tarmac. Dinner is hot sandwiches that Prompto picks up from the diner.

You and Prompto sit in the plastic chairs outside the caravan. Ignis is inside, resting. Gladio is off in the garage. You marvel at the stars. Prompto fiddles with his camera.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto begins. “I was out of line earlier. You’ve lost your dad and your kingdom and I was being really rude.”

Your brow furrows. You tear your eyes away from the sky to look at Prompto. “But you weren’t.”

“I was whining about my parents like it matters,” Prompto laughs. He plunks his camera down on the little table beside his chair. “It really doesn’t. They couldn’t even show up when I got my Crownsguard uniform. They haven’t really been _my parents_ in years. Dunno if they ever were, emotionally. If they died in Insomnia then that’s that. But your dad… that matters.”

“That’s not fair,” you feel a little sick at Prompto’s admission. “You can’t compare what’s happened to us like that. You’re just as entitled to your feelings as the rest of us are. If not more. I couldn’t imagine what you’ve had to deal with.”

Prompto never said a word about his parents the first time around. You wonder what changed.

“You know you can always talk to me,” you say. “About anything.”

“I know,” Prompto says. He doesn’t sound very sure. He picks at the cuff concealing his barcode. “Can I tell you something?”

“What did I just say?” You smile and turn your gaze back toward the stars. “Go for it.”

“I never imagined it would work out like this,” Prompto found a string poking out of the seam of his cuff and pulled at it. “Leaving the city with you guys. Going on an adventure. We’ve been friends since high school started and all but, I expected that’d end sooner or later.”

You expected this conversation at some point, but not now. “Why?”

Prompto’s efforts on his leather cuff become a little more rough. “No surprises but I was never the kind of kid who had friends. Not real ones, anyway. I was always alone. I felt… worthless, I guess. Because no one really wanted me around.”

“I want you around,” you interject. “So do Gladio and Iggy.”

“It’s hard to believe that,” Prompto’s cuff is beginning to come apart and he grimaces. He draws his hand away from the cuff and beings his eyes to the ground. “Pretty much everyone thinks I’m just some… happy-go-lucky kid without a care in the world. They think that because I want them to. I’m a fake. I’m _good_ at pretending. Why should I think you guys aren’t? I can’t fight, I can’t strategize, I can’t cook. I can’t do anything truly useful to any of you. I can shoot pictures and I can shoot a gun and both of those _talents_ are of questionable quality.”

You stand, wincing at the pain that lances through your back and knee. You walk over to stand in front of Prompto and take hold of his right hand. His breath quickens as your thumb brushes against the bracelet concealing his secret. “You mean so much to me, Prompto. To all of us. Just because you burn pasta or can’t throw a spear doesn’t mean you’re worthless. Being a commoner doesn’t make you worthless. Struggling in fights doesn’t make you worthless. Fuck, Prom. Me and the other two have been training to fight for years. Gladio has all his life. You had the fastest and most successful crash course the Crownsguard has ever seen. If you’d been training as long as I have, you’d never have a scratch on you. You’d be unstoppable out there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re my best friend, Prom. I mean that. I’m not just going to drop you someday because I’m royalty or because you’re really sad under all those smiles,” you drop Prompto’s hand for a moment and summon the bag you packed at Galdin. You feel Prompto’s gaze on you as you dig through it. After a moment, you draw out your medications, minus your testosterone vial, and hold them out. “Look.”

Prompto reads the labels aloud, voice shaky. “Cannabidiol and… Aripiprazole.”

“Chronic pain and depression,” you respond. Prompto’s eyes widen. “Why’d you think I sleep so much? Everyone has something going on underneath what they like to show people. Doesn’t mean they’re fakes,” you banish the little orange bottles.

“I have anxiety,” Prompto blurts out. “And probably other things, too. I don’t know.”

You lean against the armrest of Prompto’s chair. “There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with you. Remember that, okay?”

Prompto nods. His eyes look a little wet, but you don’t comment on it. He bites his lip. “You don’t think you could get out my bag, do you? I kinda wanna switch bracelets. This one’s getting worn out.”

“I’ve got something better, if you want it,” you dig around in the aether mentally and find something you left in there ten years ago. Or perhaps not that far in the future. You pull out the adamantite bangle you got after you and the guys hunted the adamantoise in Longwythe and present it to Prompto. The metal sparkles in the moonlight, and the dark geometric inlays mimick the pattern on Prompto’s favorite tank top.

“Wow, where’d you get this?” Prompto takes the bangle with reverent hands, inspecting the perfectly crafted artifact. “You sure you want me to have it?”

“Got it at some shop in Insomnia,” you fib. “It was going to be a birthday present for you, but I kept losing track of it. Might as well give it to you now while I have it in mind.”

Prompto turns his entire body away from you and you avert your eyes as he switches bracelets. “Perfect fit,” he marvels.

“Am I good or what?” You grin and send your bag back into nothingness. “I’m glad it fits. And… that you’re around.”

“Shouldn’t you two be getting some shut-eye?” Gladio saunters over. “We have an early morning tomorrow. Gotta meet Cor at the tomb up north.”

“Sounds like a party,” Prompto quips. He pauses, then grins. “You’re one to talk about a lack of sleep, big guy. I’ll bet you’ll be the last one to bed and up before Iggy.”

“I’m actually on my way to bunk now,” Gladio rolls his eyes and ruffles Prompto’s hair as he walks past. “Not all of us can get through the day on two hours of sleep and a slice of bread.”

“Got a lot of practice through high school,” Prompto’s grin grows a little ragged at the edges, but he points finger guns at Gladio and shoots. “Don’t do that anymore, anyway. I get my beauty sleep.”

You pull Prompto up from his chair and lead him into the caravan behind Gladio. Ignis is already asleep in the top of one of the bunks, and Gladio shucks off his leather jacket before sliding into the bottom.

“You want top bunk?” You ask. You remember Prompto always preferring it.

“‘Course I do!” Prompto grins.

You get ready for bed, muscle memory carrying you through the motions. Everything in the caravan is so familiar. It almost feels like home.

Or maybe it’s just the presence of the three people you would give your life for that really makes you feel at home.

You drift off to sleep and dream of the throne.

You are faced by Ignis, who gives you a neat bow. He’s a little more than thirty years old, but his eyesight is clear. He smiles. “Your Majesty.”

“Ignis,” you try to stand, but find yourself unable to move. Your ears begin to resonate with a high pitched noise you can’t ignore.

Your gaze flashes down to your hand and you see the Ring. The stone begins to shine.

No. No no no _no_. You can’t do this again.

You don’t have control over your own body. Ignis watches on with a soft smile as you summon the Sword of the Father and plant it in the ground at your feet. His eyes flicker with purple flame.

“Kings of Lucis,” you call, wishing you could just _shut up_. “Come to me!”

They rise. Your hands clasp around the hilt of your sword. Your heart stutters when the Kings level their weapons not at you, but at Ignis.

Ignis is knocked to the ground at the first hit. He stiffens at the next. After the fourth, he begins to cry out with each blade that impales him. You can’t do anything but watch.

In what seems like both centuries and seconds, the Kings are done. Ignis barely holds his head up, his eyes blazing with that purple fire. He lay on the ground, breath coming in pained gasps. He struggles out words that make your chest _burn_. “Noctis… trust in me.”

You are forced to stand. You are forced to take the Sword from the ground and descend the steps. You are forced to raise the weapon in one hand. You are forced to look at Ignis as he dies by your hand, struck through. His last breath is a horrible rattle, and your mouth tastes of iron.

The blood pools beneath Ignis, terrible and red against the floor. You wish you could wake up.

You don’t.

You feel your own body step over Ignis, leaving the Sword rising up out of your friend’s corpse like a lily from the soil. You walk out of the palace to see Gladiolus and Prompto outside, bodies cooling on the ground as the sun rises. You walk down the path and cross the courtyard, passing the dead forms of everyone you have ever cared about.

Dad, Mom, Luna, Cor, Iris, Clarus, Cid, Aranea, Talcott, Cindy, Nyx, Monica, so many others, all broken on the stone.

You’re the only one left. You find the power to scream.

You awaken to arms wrapped around your torso. To a hesitant hand running through your hair. To another patting your shoulder. Your chest aches.

You open your eyes to see your friends, _alive_. Alive and healthy and young.

You burst into tears. Prompto hugs you tighter. Gladio rubs a calming circle into your shoulder. Ignis resumes the motions though your hair.

You cry for them. You cry for your parents. You cry for the world. You cry for your own life. Grief crashes around you for the first time since the last campfire.

Your friends let you rest as dawn comes and goes. You cling to them, and none complain.

It takes you awhile to calm down, but eventually you extricate yourself from your bed and get ready to leave. You take your medication in the solitude of the bathroom and try to ignore the scar on your chest as you take a quick shower.

The four of you leave early and don’t talk about your nightmarish episode. It’s probably better that way. You watch the sky lighten from your spot in the backseat. Familiarity is warm and kind, settling into your flesh. You feel almost peaceful.

* * *

 

Meeting with Cor is odd. You remember screaming and yelling as he led you through the motions of accepting the Sword of the Wise. You are mostly quiet this time, until you stand in the Tomb itself.

Ignis greets Cor and you ask what you’re here for. You already know, but you can’t exactly act like it makes sense that you’d know exactly what to do here.

“...you are here to claim the power of Kings,” Cor spreads his hands over the stone sarcophagus. “Passed from the old to the new through the bonding of souls. One such soul lies before you. To claim your forebears’ power is your birthright and duty as king.”

“I understand,” you say. You raise your hand and….

Nothing.

You feel your friends’ eyes on you. You see Cor stiffen.

You try again, to reach for the power held within the Tomb.

Nothing.

You reach for the Armiger and it pulses around you. All thirteen royal arms pull themselves from your flesh and sparkle and chime as they dance around you. “Oh.”

“What does this mean?” You hear Prompto’s voice at the edge of your consciousness. The light of the Armiger feels like it’s tearing at you.

“How…” Cor steps around the sarcophagus and reaches out as if to touch the spectral weapons. “You can’t have those yet. It’s not possible.”

“It’s not,” you agree. The sick feeling within you grows. All you can think of is your father’s sword tearing your ribs open.

You banish the weapons and promptly lose consciousness.

* * *

 

Upon coming to, you find you are laid across the backseat of the Regalia. Your head sits in Gladio’s lap, and he is reading a book.

“Hey,” you croak out.

“Hey yourself,” Gladio replies, closing his novel with a snap. “What’ve you got to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” you offer. You try to sit up but find yourself too weak to do so. Gladio rolls his eyes at you.

“I think there’s a whole lot you’re not telling us,” Gladio says. “Yesterday morning, you woke up different.”

You can hear the Regalia’s stereo playing something quietly. It’s a soft piano piece, probably something of Ignis’s. You can’t be sure. You like it, though you never liked classical music before.

“Can we talk about this when we’re not driving?” You request. You almost miss the nod that Gladio gives you as you turn to a more comfortable position. Your face is turned to the sky and it’s just… pretty. You figure you should say as much. “The world is so beautiful, Gladio.”

You feel his chest still for a moment as his breathing stutters. “It sure is, Noct.”

You take hold of Gladio’s hand. His is larger than yours, calloused, and warm. If he is surprised at your action, he doesn’t show it —just squeezes your hand twice. You cloudgaze.

When you get out of the car, you are surprised to find yourself at the Pullmoor Haven. “What are we doing in Alstor Slough?”

“You recognize this place, then?” Ignis murmurs as Gladio helps you out of the car. Your legs feel oddly weak. “I was unaware you have been to Duscae.”

“I have,” you say, not thinking that maybe that is the wrong thing. “Or… no, I haven’t.”

The other three set up camp while you lean against the Regalia, wondering what you could possibly say to make them believe you what you know. You don’t even know how much you could tell them.

You let yourself be lead to one of the camping chairs. The sun is warm and bright in the sky, so there is no fire. You can almost see it, though. When you close your eyes you can see the fire crackling in the middle of the four of you. You can smell the scent of daemons and rot and darkness. You are going to die and now they _know_...

“Your Highness,” Ignis’s voice cuts through your memory. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve done this before,” you spill the words and that’s all you can really voice.

“Pardon?”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. The thought of the Night presses heavy on you, almost a physical presence. “I don’t know how to explain.”

“Try,” Gladio prompts. You let out a shaky breath.

“I should be dead,” is what you start with. You are a fool to start it there, and you’re a fool to continue it. “I died in Insomnia in 766 and then I woke up in Galdin in 756.”

“You’re joking,” Prompto’s hands curl into fists on his knees. “You’re from the future?”

“You died?” Ignis whispers.

“That’s not possible,” Gladio rises and you can practically feel the sudden anger radiating off him. “Now’s not the time to joke around, Noct. Insomnia’s burned and you nearly cracked your goddamn skull open in that tomb, and where would we be if the king bashed his brains out? Tell the truth.”

“It is the truth,” you lean back as Gladio approaches. You know how he gets, and you know why he gets that way. It doesn’t do anything to make your own reactionary rage subside. “Why the fuck would I say this if it weren’t true?”

“Because you’d rather spout shit than deal with what’s actually happened—” Gladio flings an arm in the general direction of Insomnia. “You’ve always avoided the actual problems by acting like you’re the one who’s suffered the most. And now you’re making up some _story_ as if we don’t already have enough problems.”

“Gladio,” Prompto admonishes. You can practically see the look he had, when Gladio shoved him away on the train. You can’t bear to look at his face now, to see how much it is echoed here.

“What can I do to convince you?” You pull yourself out of the camping chair with a wince. Your knee isn’t taking well to the stress of the day. You stare up at Gladio. “I did my duty. I walked tall. I died. I woke up thinking you all died too, and that Galdin was the Six-damned afterlife. What do you want from me?”

“Proof,” Gladio smiles, but it’s more an angry baring of teeth than a real grin.

You push Gladio away from you and tear off your shirt, revealing the remnants of the death blow that tore away your soul. You sense the pull of your holy covenants and take hold of the power, eyes blazing violet as the Armiger swirls around you. You can feel the presence of Bahamut, imposing and silent, rising above the haven. Your scar radiates agony into your lungs, but you _stand_. “Is this enough for you?”

All at once, the moment is gone. You stand in a silent camp with the vestiges of magic crackling around you. You’re so tired. You slump forward into Gladio’s chest, and his arms wrap around your bare torso. You feel his hands press against the thick scars running across your back.

You hear him apologizing. You hear Ignis and Prompto talking. You don’t hear what they say.

The world turns dark for a long while, and you find yourself back in your chair. The stars wink cheerfully above you in the night sky. The campfire throws sparks into the air. You have a jacket draped over you. It looks like Ignis’s.

“I’m sorry,” you jerk your head up to see Gladio tending the fire. He looks almost cowed in the flickering light. “I’m not good at dealing with emotions. Yell first, cry… never. You know how it is.”

You nod, though Gladio isn’t even looking in your direction.

“Insomnia was all I knew. Losing it is losing my world. Losing my father is—” Gladio sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore, but I was wrong to get angry. I don’t know a damn thing about time travel or possession or whatever the fuck you have going on, but the Noct I knew two days ago could barely list off all six Astrals without rolling his eyes. You actually summoned _Bahamut_ back there for a few seconds. And your chest. That scar. Something happened that I didn’t protect you from.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you heave yourself up on shaky limbs. Ignis’s jacket slides off your chest and you feel a twinge as it hits the ground. You lean down, brush off the dust, and put it on. You pull the front closed and make your way over to Gladio, crouching down beside him. “It was my duty. I made my peace.”

“How did it happen?” Gladio’s voice is oddly hushed. “What did that to you?”

Your throat closes up. You hand presses hard against the front of Ignis’s jacket. “A sword. My dad’s sword. I can’t…”

Everything is blue. The blade flashes in the light of the Crystal. You want it to be over. You just want it all to end. You were born to do this. Why is it so _hard_?

“Noct,” Gladio’s arm is around your shoulder, grounding you. “You don’t have to talk about it. Whatever happened won’t happen again. I won’t let it. We can change it.”

“Okay,” you lean into Gladio’s touch. “I kinda wanna talk about it though. The future. The… less harmful parts. I barely got to spend much time there, but it feels important.”

“Talk away,” Gladio invites. You think of the time you spent in the Night, and despite everything, you grin.

“You know, you had a girlfriend. In the future. Wouldn’t say who she was.”

“Really?” Gladio laughed. “Don’t know if I was telling the truth, then.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Don’t swing that way too much,” Gladio leans forward to adjust a log on the edge of the fire, pulling you along with him. “I mean, I do. Just not that hard.”

“Maybe she was someone special,” you imagine Gladio with the lines of age and stress creasing his features. With his long hair tied in a little ponytail, arm-in-arm with a faceless woman. “You seemed to care about her a lot, anyway. Or him. Whoever.”

“I’m sure I did. Us Amicitias… we tend to care a little too much,” Gladio retracts his arm. “I _am_ sorry. For pushing you. I should have believed you.”

“I barely believe me,” you soak up the heat of the fire. “I keep expecting to fall asleep and just stop existing. This doesn't feel real.”

“It is real,” Gladio’s irises gleam gold. “And I’m damn glad you’re here.”

You don’t how you got here. You don’t know how long it will last.

But you have a second chance. Luna is still alive out there, and all six gods are on your side. If there was ever a chance to fix things, it’s this.

“There was a lot that went wrong,” you say, trying to find the words. “But I think that… even when everything was terrible… the months I spent traveling Eos with you guys were the happiest I’ve ever been.”

There’s the familiar purr of the Regalia slowly approaching down the road a hundred yards from the haven, and you watch Prompto and Ignis climb out with what looks like grocery bags in their hands. Prompto nearly tips one when he closes the car door with his hip and barely manages to catch a hi-potion bottle that fell out of its bag in the process.

Your chest aches. You wonder how you got so lucky.

“We’ll make things better this time,” Gladio says as he rises from his seat. He considers you for a moment, eyes lingering. “You okay to help with the groceries?”

“Yeah,” you take a deep breath. “Yeah, I can. Just gimme a moment.”

Prompto drops a bag of groceries. He begins to loudly offer apologies to anyone who will listen, but mostly to Ignis.

It’s a new start. You’re going to make the most of it. You’re going to save the world and live to see the point of it. You won’t take any other outcome.

But tonight? Tonight you will eat dinner with your best friends and then get some real sleep.

You deserve it, you think.

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever wanna chat about fic or snything really, hit me up on tumblr! I have the same username on there.


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